


dimethylpyrazine

by Duskscribe, shatou



Category: Hannibal (TV), Polar (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Polyamory, Will never meets Molly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22131286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskscribe/pseuds/Duskscribe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatou/pseuds/shatou
Summary: After Hannibal Lecter's incarceration, Will Graham moved to Triple Oak, Montana, and fell in love again.
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Duncan Vizla | Black Kaiser, Will Graham/Duncan Vizla | Black Kaiser, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter/Duncan Vizla | Black Kaiser
Comments: 46
Kudos: 273
Collections: EatTheRare 2019





	1. Duncan I

Things were quiet here. 

That was the point of moving to Triple Oak - no killing, no travelling, just snow and silence and Camille. They had found the man who had ordered her father’s death, Duncan a silent observer as she pulled the trigger. She didn’t hesitate this time. 

They didn’t spend their days together often. Freed of her ghosts, Camille poured her heart into studying. She liked to shoot - photographs, not bullets, and she was damn good at what she did. Duncan didn’t try to stop her, not when she was bound for a brighter future than he could ever claim to have. 

On her last day, she brought him a bottle of maple syrup and hugged him goodbye, making him promise to take care of himself. “Please,” she had said, smiling through her tears. “Get a smartphone. Or a tablet. I want to call you.” He might have cried a little, too. 

Another year passed before he had a neighbor again. The man had arrived suddenly - no moving vans or walks with a realtor, just one car, a few boxes, and that was that. In the vast nothingness that made up his retirement, Duncan found himself unduly interested in the new presence across the lake. Some nights, he would sit up to watch the door open, the light illuminating a bare patch on the snow as dog after dog streamed out into the yard. A shadow would linger in the doorway, indistinguishable in the darkness. Foolish, but Duncan always slept a little easier on those nights. 

Maybe he should’ve been content to leave it at that. 

A storm was brewing, said the man on the radio, and Duncan decided to do some extensive grocery shopping this time. He had ingredients for stew piled in the back of his car, alongside freezer meals and whiskey in preparation for his inevitable failure. The drive back was longer than the time it took to shop, the road to town snaking around the lake and against the edge of his neighbor’s property. In the daylight, the place was silent enough to seem uninhabited. Though something caught Duncan’s eye this time: a woodpile, with a paltry few bundles of firewood stacked there. Not his concern, but with all of the dogs and the threat of a storm on the horizon (and the damnable boredom, the one he refused to acknowledge that dogged his every step)... Well. Best do the neighborly thing. 

There was no one to greet him when he swerved off the road, nor when he took the axe hanging from a nearby peg. The work was an oddly enjoyable sort, though his mind wandered with every swing. Thump. A log split in two. Thump. Another addition to the pile. Thump. The blade rending through flesh, separating an arm from shoulder. Thump. More wood. 

The flashbacks, sporadic in their arrival, kept him company, old voices haunting with every swing. 

The crunch of snow beneath tires cut through the noise. A shame (something about being caught in a good deed made him itchy), but there was little he could do about it now. In his peripheral vision, he could see the stranger halted a fair distance from his home, climbing out of his car to greet him. Duncan finished off one log, then two, before footsteps approached. 

“Hey. Hi. You- need any help?” The man sounded wary. 

A touch breathless, Duncan straightened up, glanced his way. He had never seen the man so close before. A strong jaw, strong shoulders, dark curls just barely hiding the scar on his forehead. Not terrible to look at - aside from the scowl, anyway. “No, no,” he assured, resting the axe on his shoulder (an unconscious, yet graceful show of strength). “Just noticed your woodpile getting low. There’s supposed to be a storm tonight.” 

There was recognition in the stranger’s eyes, ringed with dark circles yet bright and alert. Duncan couldn’t decipher it. He added, “I live across the lake. You could say that we’re neighbors.” He gestured to the lake as if to make his point. There, almost fuzzy in the distance - and the snow, which had just begun to fall - was a cabin, dark and small. 

The man tried for a smile. 

“...Neighbors.” he echoed, and held out a hand. “I don’t think I’ve gotten your name. I’m Will.” 

There was a certain tension in his shoulders as he reached for him. Duncan didn’t think much of it. Plenty of people moved to these parts to be alone. The name, despite how common it was, gave him the slightest pause; the name with the face seemed oddly… Familiar. He caught the man’s gaze flitting over his axe, so he set it down and took his hand. 

“Duncan Vizla. Sorry for intruding. I hope I didn’t alarm your dogs too badly.” He could see them peeking through the windows, tails wagging at the sight of their master. 

Some of Will’s tension drained at the mention of his dogs. “That’s alright. They’re just excited; they know I’m back.”

Duncan gave a slight smile. He turned on his heel, and returned the axe to the peg where he’d found it. A thought was brewing in his mind - slight, but bolstered by curiosity and cabin fever. “Are you a whiskey man, Will?” 

Will took a second to look him over. “I wouldn’t refuse a glass.” A beat, then, “I happen to have some. If you don’t mind…” Will gestured toward his car, and the distance to close between where they were at the mouth of the woodlands, and his home. “Do drop by.” 

An invitation. Unexpected, but very much welcome. “I’d like that,” Duncan said. “I wouldn’t mind meeting your pack either, if you have the time.” 

Snow was starting to fall a little more heavily then, heralding the beginning of a proper winter storm. Duncan was certain he should be back in his car before it got so bad. He didn’t much mind the alternative. Hands in his pockets, he walked alongside Will to the cabin, falling into a comfortable pace. 

“What brings you to Montana? Family in the area?” 

Will’s smile was faint. “No, not really,” he answered. “I wanted a… Getaway. Surrounded by nature, and everything.” They came to the porch and Will unlocked the door. “You?” 

Duncan doubted it was the complete truth, but it sounded honest enough. “I’m retired,” he said. Will gave a quiet _Ah_. “Wanted to go somewhere, quiet, and Florida wasn’t to my tastes.” He smiled a touch playfully, glancing down once the door was finally opened and the dogs streamed out. The world became lively with sounds: rustling, excited panting, tottering footsteps, little yelps. He was pleasantly surprised when they didn’t jump or bark at the sight of a stranger, one just cautiously approaching him with a sniff. 

“That’s Winston,” Will said, hanging his coat. Duncan offered his hands for Winston to smell as he stepped inside, the dogs soon crowding around him to accept pets and scratches. 

“They’re well behaved. Do you train them yourself?” 

“Yeah, they’ve been with me for a while. They were strays - when I come across one, I tend to bring them back.” Will stood there for a moment, as if trying to find his bearings. Duncan got the sense that he didn’t get many guests. “Uh… Make yourself at home.” He held out his hand for Duncan’s overcoat. 

Duncan handed it over before settling down, sinking comfortably into an armchair. Winston came and rested his head on his knee, so he obliged him with a few gentle pets. “Kind of you,” he mused, scratching under Winston’s chin. “I’m sure they appreciate it.” They were certainly kind dogs, soothing any discomfort he may have had around them. 

Will disappeared into the hallway. He came back with two glasses and an amber-colored bottle. “How long have you been around?” 

“About two years. I retired last year, so I’ve just been enjoying my time.” 

“I see.” 

The storm was picking up outside. It’d gotten a little darker outside, the sun obscured by the rolling, pregnant clouds. Duncan glanced up when Will set the bottle on the table, just in time for a question. “Do you work?” 

“Yes, from home.” Will hesitated for a second. “I research. Academically speaking.” 

Now that was interesting. “What kind of academic research? If you don’t mind my asking.” They didn’t get many scholarly types in these parts, save for the occasional dreamer that hung around the local library. Not that Duncan was much for book learning, himself, since being a traveler had taught him a fair about the world at large. 

“...Historical archives.” Will poured from the bottle; guest first, then host. Unease was wrought in his voice. Vague answer. “So, if it’s not too intrusive to ask. What happened to your eye?” 

Duncan could have laughed at that. Such a direct question was out of the norm - people stared, and wondered, but never, never asked. 

“Work accident,” he smoothly said, taking up his glass. “I worked in the funeral business. You would be surprised by how dangerous it is.” Just as unclear as Will’s reply. At least they were on the same page. “How did you get that scar on your forehead?” 

Will cracked a smile. “This?” His hand flew to his head like he’d forgotten it was there. (Will reminded him of Camille, a little. Not quite as awkward, but he avoided people’s eyes just the same.) “I got into a fight with someone I knew.” 

Something unsaid hung in his silence. 

Duncan took a slow sip of his whiskey, waiting until Will supplied the rest. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

“Sounds like a terrible friend,” Duncan replied, mildly. Not that Will had specified if they were friendly or not, but he was curious to see if he’d refute it. “But I guess they weren’t trying to kill you outright. Would’ve aimed lower for that.” 

Will took a sip from his glass. “Now how would you know that?” His smile finally looked humored now. 

“The skull’s too thick to slice through, unless you take power tools to it. Even with stabbing, it’s better to aim for the eyes than the forehead. Less work.” 

“You make it sound like you’ve tried.” 

“Working with the deceased, you learn some things.”

A nose rubbed against his shin, and Duncan looked down to find one of the smaller dogs - Buster, was it his name? - staring up expectantly with the tiniest of whimpers. 

Will seemed to catch up on it right away, smiling at the dog’s behavior. “He’s a glutton,” he said, looking up, unaware he was still wholly smiling. “Would you like to stay for dinner? Not the best weather to be driving in, after all.” 

Will looked good when he smiled, Duncan noted. “I’d like that.” He rose to his feet, his back giving a satisfying crack as he stretched. He took up his glass and finished off the rest of his whiskey in one go, head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat in a way he normally wouldn’t in front of strangers. And yet… “I’m not much of a cook, but I’m happy to help. Just point me where you want me.” 

He licked the last few drops of whiskey from his lips as he followed Will to the kitchen. He was about to ask what he could do for help, when a loud _CRASH_ came from outside. 

The switched flipped in his head. 

Every ounce of ease faced away; his body tensed; his eye flicked to the window. No place for fear. Duncan surveyed his surroundings, emotionless. “Keep the lights off,” he said, hand falling to his hip. Probably just the storm, but if it was something else… Well. He’d be ready. Without waiting for Will to reply, he wrenched the door open. Frigid winds invaded the home. Jacketless, gun drawn, he ventured out into the storm. 

The crash was too close to come from across the lake. _Crunch_. Duncan whipped around, racing in the direction of the sound. There was no source, as far as he could tell - just the axe fallen from its peg. He snatched it with his free hand, eye scanning around. Save for a few logs that had tumbled from the woodpile, nothing was out of place. There were no tracks discernable in the heavily falling snow and almost nothing to see through the haze. From afar, on the road, two lights were disappearing around the bend. 

He could hear Will’s voice behind him, muffled in the screech of the wind. Bit by bit, Duncan’s posture relaxed, before he finally holstered his gun. He turned to find Will catching up, slightly pink and out of breath. “Might just be an animal,” he muttered. He didn’t look convinced, himself. 

“The wind,” Duncan said, placing the axe where he’d found it and grabbing some firewood to take inside. He didn’t mention the severity of his reaction to Will. Will didn’t ask, either. 

\---

Dinner was a nice affair. It was far cozier than anything Duncan was used to, anyway, leaving him feeling full and all too satisfied when he sank down to the couch. It was the sort of thing that had him longing for an after dinner smoke, but he could hardly move - Ellie had crawled up beside him and set her head in his lap, and he couldn’t bear to move now. Will emerged from the kitchen after having dried the dishes. He’d brought out the booze again.

“Thanks for having me over,” Duncan said, taking his second glass of whiskey in hand. “It’s rare to have good company.” 

He’d come to the conclusion that there was something unusual about Will, but he was in no hurry to figure it out. 

Will turned his glass over, contemplating the glint of the liquid in the firelight. “Should I take that as a compliment?” 

“You should.” 

“I could say the same to you.” 

“Good.” Duncan scratched down Ellie’s back. He didn’t bother to glance outside - it was as dark as pitch. While not a fan of imposing, the snow was liable to go on for a while longer. “...I might have trouble getting home. Mind if I spend the night?” 

“I’d mind it more if you barge out there unannounced again.” Will leaned back, arms behind his head. His smiles seemed a little easier now, and Duncan wondered if it was the alcohol. “Stay until the weather clears.” 

It was a kind offer - enough so that Duncan didn’t take the playful order to heart, only smiling. “Thank you.” It was time to refill his glass, yet he made no move to get up. Warm and drowsy and trapped by Ellie’s warm weight, he dozed off, head sagging against the armrest. He only vaguely registered the feeling of a blanket draping over him. 

\---

Some nights, Duncan got lucky. He slept well, got in a good 6-8 hours, and went about his day. 

This wasn’t one of those nights. 

It started with quiet sounds: whimpers, grunts, then groans. Afterimages burned into his brain flashed behind his eyes, rocking his body at every move. Stabbings and shootings and fires and every way that a man could die, each flashing too fast to register, screams (sometimes his own) ripping through his ears. A blade arcing towards his eye, pain, the world going black, black; Camille, drugged and unconscious, Camille, holding the still warm corpse of her baby brother. Blood, there was blood, manic laughter and a cuff around his wrist-

A hand around his wrist. 

It was sheer luck that he’d left his gun in his coat pocket. As it was, he lashed out, grabbing the intruder by the wrist and yanking it back. His eye erratically flicked across the room. Casual furnishings. Empty mugs. Dogs huddled in the corner. And then, the intruder… 

The tension faded from his shoulders bit by bit, and with it, his grip on Will’s wrist. Not an intruder; his neighbor. Will. He was fine. Duncan sucked in a low, deep breath. Will was still crouched beside him, still quiet, watching him in something that was either wariness or concern. 

Duncan turned Will’s hand in his own, brushing his sleeve up to see his wrist. He hadn’t broken anything, but the bruises… Those would linger. 

“...I’m sorry,” he said, finally letting him go. He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling sweat beneath his palm. “Did I wake you?” 

Will rose to his feet, turning to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. “No, they did.” His head tilted to the dogs. “Don’t worry. Better to have someone around when that happens.” 

Duncan accepted the glass with a murmur of thanks, taking a welcome gulp. One would think he’d be used to the nightmares, but they were still as fresh and vivid as the kills themselves. “It sounds like you speak from experience.” Will had to know when it felt like. He’d done everything right to wake him up, down to his slow, unhurried movements. 

“I’ve been there.” Will dropped himself into the neighboring chair, absently rubbing his forearm. His eyes trailed from the curtained window to Duncan. “It’s happened before, hasn’t it?” 

The eye contact lasted only a few moments before Will looked elsewhere. 

It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t sympathy. Will just _got_ it. The notion was foreign to him. “Yes,” he said, finishing off the last of his water, gaze never trailing from Will’s face. “How often are yours?” 

“It used to be more often. Every other night or so, at some point. It’s gotten better.” Will paused, pensive, and segued into a remark, “You wake up fast.” 

“I’m a light sleeper.” 

Duncan rose to refill his glass, and all at once, decided to stop beating around the bush. All of this code was tiresome to him, especially when he could feel himself right on the periphery of the truth. “I get the feeling that we’ve had similar experiences. Am I wrong?”

Will didn’t meet his eye. “I suppose you’re right.” It didn’t sound like a reluctant confession; Will looked almost like he’d let down a weight. “...It was about sending people to the grave, wasn’t it?” 

Duncan had to stifle a laugh at the turn of phrase. At least his instincts had been right. Will might not have been the type to take a life just for the sake of doing so (or maybe he was; Duncan had been wrong before), but he’d done it. A killer, down to the scars on his knuckles. “I worked for Damocles. They handled my contracts, and I went where they told me.” 

There was recognition on Will’s face. Duncan knew Interpol had been on the hunt before, only to come up empty. 

As if in return, Will offered his own truth. “I worked for the FBI. I taught in the academy, and investigated on the field.” 

FBI. Made sense. Will seemed like a good man - probably had good motives for doing what he did, some sense of justice. And a questionable sense of humor, given his next question. 

“You must have traveled the world, haven’t you?” 

It was enough to make Duncan smile. “Yes,” he said. “Most of my work was overseas. I’ve been to 99 countries.” He studied Will as if seeing him anew, wondering over his scars, the fall of his curls, each little line around his eyes. He didn’t often meet people like him, and never on such good terms. “I think I’ve seen your face before. Are you well known?” 

“If by well known you mean infamous,” Will said. Questionable sense of humor indeed. “I’m-- Ah. My name is Will Graham. I’ve been detained and gone to federal court.” 

That sounded a little more familiar… And intriguing. Duncan had to dwell on it for a moment or two, before it clicked - Will’s face on the cover of some tabloid in the checkout aisle, a mugshot paired with a strange headline. The details escaped him. Something about an agent gone rogue, a serial killer, and… “ _Hannibal the cannibal_?” he inquired. 

“Oh, God.” Will winced. Duncan smiled. “Yes, that’s- the story. Does the name Freddie Lounds ring some bells too? A real talented pen.” 

Duncan thought a moment, before shrugging. “Sounds familiar, but I was still working when the story broke.” Hard to concentrate on world events when he was getting his retirement affairs in order. “Is that scar on your forehead from Hannibal?” _What about your nightmares?_

Will nodded. His hand rose, almost unconsciously, fingers tracing the pale line. “Yes, and you were right - it wasn’t an ordinary blade. He went at it with a bone saw.” A hand brushed through his hair, curls falling back in place. “He let me into his mind, and I used it against him, so… He was going to take it back. The piece of his mind, in mine.” 

“He was going to eat your brain?” There was a faint hint of disbelief there. Serial killing wasn’t a mindset that Duncan understood. While he guessed he fit into the same category, in terms of body count, there was no real enjoyment in killing, nor in big, poetic gestures. He huffed, shaking his head. “Seems like a lot of trouble to go through to make a point.” 

Will’s smile was rueful. 

“Making a point is half the reason why Hannibal did the things he did.” 

“And the rumors about you two. The _murder husbands_. Any truth to that?” Prying, maybe, but they’d shared this much. 

This time, Will laughed - fleeting and in a sputter. “Of all of the rumors you could’ve caught, _that’s_ the one that stuck?” He covered his mouth, rubbed his cheek. “The titles were sensationalist. I went to look for him after he… Left, for Europe, and they took the chance.” 

It wasn’t a denial. Before Duncan could open his mouth again, Will was reaching for him - for his eyepatch. There was the briefest pause there, as if Will was considering his actions, before he kept on. Fingertips brushed against the sweat-damp fabric. “What about this?” Another change of subject. Will was good at avoiding the point. 

“I got sloppy.” 

It was another long moment to study him, before Duncan reached up. The knot came loose easily, the fabric falling from his face. The yawning socket was only partially hidden by scarred eyelids. He couldn’t find a trace of self consciousness in him, but he knew it wasn’t a pleasant sight. “Had it cut out.” 

Will narrowed his eyes. He didn’t retreat. “Who did this - the other side, or yours?” 

“Mine.” It struck Duncan then that until now, the only person who had looked at it was a medical professional. Showing it to Will was like showing his underbelly, having some vulnerable part of himself exposed. “I took care of it.” 

Calloused fingertips traced the trail of scars under his brow, before Will settled back into his seat. The warmth left with him. When was the last time he’d been touched, Duncan wondered. He barely kept himself from chasing after the sensation. 

“I’m surprised you were able to retire. Are you in any danger?” Will inquired, wary. He was definitely asking more for his safety than Duncan’s. Duncan appreciated the self preservation. 

“It’s a long story. What matters is that there’s no one left to find me.” The only threat to his retirement now was his own boredom. “What about you? Your reputation must linger.” 

“Nothing that would bring people after me, no. Hannibal is incarcerated.” Will looked vaguely melancholic, even wistful, saying that. “I’m on my own.” 

What a lonely life. Duncan could see why he kept his dogs - they probably kept the silence from being too suffocating. “You could see me.” Duncan quirked a small smile, growing all too used to this new camaraderie. “I’ve got whiskey.” 

Will’s smile was warm as he settled back in his seat, something between amusement and curiosity lingering in his eyes. A moment of consideration, a beat, then two, before he decided. “Well,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “I wouldn’t refuse a glass.”


	2. Duncan II

Duncan liked the company. 

Granted, he’d enjoyed being around Will since their first night together, but the repetition made it better. Will wasn’t a stranger in the crowd or a faceless one night stand, but a man with kind eyes and calloused hands and laughter that was still too rare for Duncan’s liking. The usual winter loneliness seemed past him now, chased away by drinking nights, diner visits, and the occasional ice fishing trip (he never caught a damn thing, but for once, he was fine with that). 

It wasn’t quite storming yet; something close, Duncan figured, idly listening to the howling wind before refilling his glass of whiskey. Their movie had ended a long while ago, some pointless sitcom playing in its stead. Duncan wasn’t paying it much mind. Hard to, when Will was slumped beside him, half asleep, his face warm and relaxed in the firelight. 

It caused problems, he’d realized, looking at Will’s face for too long. It made him start thinking things he shouldn’t. 

“I’ve been thinking of taking a trip,” he abruptly said. “Might as well, now that I’m retired.” 

Will blinked at the broken silence, giving him a long, sideways glance. “A trip? When?” There was the slightest hint of alarm there, enough to make Duncan smile. 

“Don’t look so concerned. I can take care of myself.” 

That look remained on Will’s face, his brows furrowed, mouth downturned in a slight frown. It was… Sweet, in a way that Duncan was altogether unused to. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, and with little thought, continued, “Actually, I was hoping you could come with me.” 

Will seemed comfortable here, and if not happy, then at least something close to content. But, hell, Duncan didn’t like the thought of leaving him with no one to talk to. Dogs weren’t exactly conversationalists. 

“...Ah.” For a few beats, Will was silent. Duncan watched from the corner of his eye as Will rubbed his jaw, stared into the fire, and after a pause, asked, “Think I can find a dogsitter in town?” 

Duncan’s answer was immediate. 

“I’ll find one for you.” 

Will might’ve smiled - Will _had_ smiled, an almost hesitant sense of excitement there. It was enough to make Duncan ache. “Are you thinking warm or cold?” 

“Somewhere warm.” It wasn’t hard to imagine Will laughing and half dressed, stretched somewhere out on the beach. “Have you ever been to Australia?” 

Will turned the glass in his hand. “No. Have you?” 

Duncan could feel his gaze.

“Once, a long time ago.” He’d been tasked to kill a vacationing surgeon. They had a fresh scalpel in their suitcase and everything, the gliding smoothly to the back of their eye socket with barely any pressure at all. “The beaches are nice. We could go fishing, if you like.” 

His knee bumped against Will’s, and once they were touching, he didn’t bother to move it. Neither did Will. 

“Mm. We could find a fishing boat. Go with a crew, see how they operate…” Will leaned back. They were already shoulder to shoulder. “What do _you_ want to do?” 

“I don’t know. I’m not used to doing what I want.” After a lifetime on the job, being untethered was odd to Duncan. “Drink. Have a smoke. Enjoy your company. Beyond that…” He shrugged. 

“That’s good enough.” 

Will drank, and leaned forward to place his glass on the table. His hand brushed past Duncan’s, then down to his forearm, below his rolled-up sleeve. It took a great deal of effort on Duncan’s part not to shiver, merely watching as Will’s eyes trailed up and up, finally meeting his own. It was with a sudden urgency Will blurted, “Don’t you ever want-- Somebody? Never a love interest?” 

Now that was… Curious. Duncan’s answer was to the point, just as it always was. “Smarter not to form connections in the funeral business. One night stands worked well enough.” Not to say that he didn’t entertain the notion, from time to time. Especially now. “What about you?” 

“Me? Well.” Will drew his hand away, head dropping against the back of the couch. His face bore a rosy flush. “The last person I asked said I was-- Ah, not stable enough for her.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

There was a brief silence. Duncan could practically see the gears turning in Will’s head as, slowly, he continued. “...And there are other, murky territories.” 

Duncan knew what he meant. “Did you love him? Hannibal?” 

Will looked like he wanted to laugh, but no laughter came.

“No.”

He didn’t sound entirely sure. 

It took some time for him to relent. 

“...I guess, being in his presence could be comforting. Hannibal doesn’t judge like others do. He has his own code, and by his standards, I’m-- I have potentials.” He cleared his throat. “What do you think?” 

Duncan mulled it over. Will didn’t talk about it, much. Some research had laid out the barest facts, a series of betrayals and murders that had followed the two from one continent to another, before ending in a final surrender. Will would never be the same person he was before meeting Hannibal, for better or for worse. 

“I think he provided the worst and the best times of your life. Makes sense that your relationship with him would be complicated.” Duncan’s arm slung over the back of the couch, nearly over Will’s shoulders. “Do you feel the need to visit him in prison?” 

Will leaned back with a deep exhale. The back of his head was touching Duncan’s arm. “I’m sure that’s exactly what he expects me to do, sooner or later. Which is why I won’t.” He turned, meeting Duncan’s gaze. He held it. 

Logs crackled in the hearth. Elongated shadows of the minimal furniture in Duncan’s living room flickered along with the firelight. 

“Humans are too complex to stick together for long,” Will mused after a while. 

“I’ve seen it work for some people,” Duncan said. “Maybe not people like us, but some people.” He’d entertained the notion of finding a family when he was a younger man, before his focus turned wholly to the work. It’d be too late to start now, but… Would trying hurt? “Still. Nothing wrong with following your impulses.” 

Will’s answering chuckle was low, breathy. 

“Impulses, huh?” 

And then Will fell quiet again. Except, this time, he was leaning in again, close enough for Duncan to catch his scent - musk and pine and cheap, familiar aftershave. He barely resisted the urge to bury his nose in those curls, head tilting to watch the man who was damn near in his arms. His hand fell to settle on Will’s leg, just above his knee. Even from this angle, he recognized the look on Will’s face. It was slight, but it was there, the slight dullness in his eyes, the lines around his mouth. “...You’re thinking too hard again.” 

“Am I?” Will didn’t move - well, didn’t move away. If anything, he sunk more into their shared seat. Their breaths mingled, smelling of booze. “What’re you thinking, then?” 

For his work, Duncan needed to be a tactician. Details had to be ironclad, every little moment carefully evaluated and re-evaluated - but, when shit hit the fan, instincts beat logical thought. Like now. He reached up, slowly, as if he was approaching one of Will’s more nervous strays. His hand perfectly cupped Will’s cheek. “I think you know.” 

A moment to meet his eyes, make his intent clear, before he leaned down and brought Will in for a kiss. 

The effect was instantaneous. 

Will uttered a quiet _Nnnn_ sound in his throat as he tilted his head, hand grappling for something to hold onto before finally finding Duncan’s hair. It’d been too long since Duncan had been touched like that. He’d missed it - the rasp of stubble beneath his touch, the strong fingers curling in his hair, the feeling of a broad body beneath his own. He steered Will to press back against the couch. His free hand brushed slowly up his side, pushing up his shirt, then his undershirt to trail the rough pads of his fingers against skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. A satisfied breath, before he moved in to press a trail of kisses along Will’s jaw. _Perfect._

Will was growing more receptive by the moment. His head tilted back, exposing the long, bare expanse of his throat, his hand sliding from Duncan’s hair to clutch his shoulder. His body twisted upwards in the barely there space between them, seeking friction that Duncan was more than happy to give, rocking down against him. There were too many clothes in the way for his liking, Duncan left to fumble with the buttons of Will’s shirt. His normally clever hands were dulled by the alcohol, fingers slipping once or twice, before Will’s dropped down to help him. Shirt, undershirt, both tossed carelessly to the ground. 

And there he was. 

Duncan took a moment to look, savor the miles of perfect, pale skin, marred only by the old scar tissue high on his shoulder, stretched across his stomach. _Hannibal left me with a smile,_ Will had told him. Duncan paid it little mind, kissing down his neck, down his collarbone, pausing only to suck gentle bruises into his skin. The harsh sound of Will’s breath was reward enough, the man beneath him a desperate, wriggling thing, hands scrabbling at Duncan’s sweater. There was only fondness for him there, Duncan smiling against his skin as he sucked another bruise into his chest. 

Only when Will balled his fists in his sweater and _yanked_ did Duncan finally cede, pulling away just enough to tug it off. His body was hardened by age, pockmarked by scars of every shape and sort. Slashes, bullet holes, bite marks, burns; his long career spanned across his flesh, his history carved into his body. Hard to mind any of it when Will’s hands explored. Fingertips drifted from mark to mark, scar to scar, a silent question in Will’s parted lips. 

It wasn’t the time for that. 

Duncan’s hand dove down to palm Will through his trousers. Any questions that lingered in his eyes were gone in a moment, Will gasping as he angled his hips up, cock twitching against the pressure. He reached up - to hold him again, Duncan had thought. His hands found the knot of his eyepatch instead, and, without warning, tugged it loose.

Will smiled as it fell. Probably the only person who could see Duncan’s empty socket and smile, the bastard. Duncan huffed, unable to stop himself from smiling back as he grabbed Will by the hips and pulled him up. “Come on.” He hefted him into his arms as if he weighed nothing at all, the air chill against his skin on the way to the bedroom. The headboard wasn’t much warmer against his back, but Duncan hardly paid it any mind, just dropping Will into his lap and pulling him in for a hungry kiss. Will responded beautifully, blunt nails sinking into his shoulders, scoring against his skin, gentleness forgotten as the kiss grew breathless and bruising and _good_. 

Undressing was difficult, in the midst of things. Hands, clumsy with alcohol, fumbled across buttons, shoving fabric carelessly down, legs kicking until everything was in a proper mess by the side of the bed. Will’s hands wandered without fear - Duncan let him, for a moment, watching as Will’s eyes darted from scar to scar to scar, before deciding that his attention could be better spent elsewhere. 

Will’s moans grew damn near musical with a hand around his cock. 

Duncan chased after them, breathing Will’s name into the kiss, nipping his bottom lip as his thumb brushed slowly around the head, smearing the precum gathering there. Not nearly all that he wanted to do, but it’d been too long since he’d done this last, too long since he indulged with a partner that mattered. He wanted to savor this. Will arched beautifully beneath his touch, his shoulders tensed, arms winding around his neck for support. 

“That’s it,” Duncan breathed. He only stopped touching him long enough to grab the lube from the nightstand, cap clumsily popped to slick up his hand, their cocks. Will’s hips bucked and he breathed raggedly; almost like he had to make an effort to keep himself from thrusting right away. Duncan gave a breathy laugh, turning his head to kiss his cheek. “Been a while?” 

Will breathed a _Mmyeah_ , barely intelligible, which earned him a fond chuckle. One hand stroked them together, almost lazily, Duncan admiring the differences between them. The other dragged down Will’s back. Two fingers pressed against his entrance, not quite pushing in, but giving enough pressure to be noticed. Will sucked in a breath. 

Their foreheads touched and silence reigned, the one moment seeming to stretch on for an eternity. Will’s nod made their noses rub together a bit. He wet his lips, going as far as to push himself back, tentative. 

Good. 

Duncan took his time to push in both at once, breathing a low sigh at the tightness. This was new to Will - had to be, with the way he clenched around him, eyelashes fluttering over those pretty blue eyes. Duncan took some mercy on him, his pace regular, slow, careful, stroking his cock to mitigate any potential discomfort. The look on Will’s face was uncertain, almost, hesitant - which made it all the better when Duncan’s fingers finally curled. 

Will moaned in a way that seemed to shock even him, the exhalation laced with uneven breaths and soundless gulps. Duncan had to taste him in that moment, lips parted, soft and searching, a counterpoint to Will’s sloppiness. It was an utter delight when he had to break the kiss to cry out, face pressed in the crook of Duncan’s neck. 

He was taking it well, for his first time. Duncan was careful with him, slow to stretch him out, work him up, lazily thrusting against him all the while. It took some time before he finally deemed Will ready, charmed by the broken little sound he made when those fingers were pulled away. A hand on Will’s hip to steady him, the other on his cock. 

“Ready?” 

The answer was immediate. 

“Yes.” 

Will straightened a little, shifting his weight onto his knees. Hands planted on Duncan’s shoulders, he lifted himself, and took a moment to line their bodies up. Duncan’s lips parted, his eye half lidded as, bit by bit, Will sank down. He was so damn _tight_. His appreciative moan was breathless as he rocked his hips up, inch by inch until Will was fully seated. “Good,” he breathed, fingers twining in Will’s hair. “You’re doing good, Will.” 

Will began to roll his hips and let out, at once, a thin sound. Duncan’s hand settled on the back of his neck, keeping him steady as they finally found their rhythm. Slow, easy, nothing like Duncan’s usual flings - no need to rush to an end here. For once, Duncan took his time and enjoyed himself, pressing biting kisses along Will’s shoulder, his hand dropping between them to stroke his cock. He drank in the sight of Will - his head tipped back, sweat glistening on his skin, a drop rolling down to settle in the hollow of his throat. Will opened his eyes to watch him, just once, closing them again with a half desperate sound as he bore down against him. 

That, more than anything, spurred Duncan on. 

He wanted to hear more of those sounds. He wanted Will to _watch_ him. He growled beneath his breath, hips snapping up as his fingers found Will’s hair, bringing him in for another breathless kiss. Will kissed back with a hunger, licking in, nipping Duncan’s lips whenever they pulled back for air. Duncan’s eye never left him, not as Will slammed himself down again, and again, thighs trembling and chest heaving when he gave one, single cry, and spilled between them. 

Duncan muffled a curse at the sudden tightness, both hands falling to Will’s hips. There it was, so close, his grip damn near bruising as he thrusted up once, then twice, before that tension finally snapped. He came within Will with a breathless groan of his name, Will quivering as he rocked down through the aftershocks. 

It took a long moment before Will finally pulled himself off of him, Duncan’s gaze dropping to watch his spend drip down his thighs. 

The wise thing to do would be to get up, clean them both off, go to bed. But as Duncan watched him, trailing over the flushed skin, Will’s reddened lips, his face slack in the aftermath, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He sank against the bed, ushering Will in impossibly closer, cradled against his chest beneath the blankets. 

Their bodies fit together like they were meant to. 

Duncan slept peacefully that night, deep and dreamless. His natural clock had him rising with the sun, so he carefully extradited himself from under Will (though it was a wonder to see him like this, every muscle of his body relaxed in the light of the rising sun), letting him sleep a little longer as he headed to the shower. Last night had been sorely needed. It was a product of curiosity, but the same hunger lingered after the first taste. He could get used to it. 

While Will slept on, he made breakfast for them both, casual in his sweatpants, a robe tossed over his shoulders. He even felt comfortable enough to forgo the eyepatch, a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he cooked bacon, eggs, pancakes. He only glanced up at the sound of padding feet. 

The bathrobe Will had wrapped himself in did not hide the bruises on his clavicle. And he was - Duncan noted with a certain amusement - slightly off-balance with his steps. “Coffee and aspirin on the counter if you need it,” he said. He was well aware of how much they’d had to drink last night, a low headache pulsing in his temples (he was getting a little too old to overindulge like that). 

Will only muttered his thanks, a hand scrubbing over his face as he settled at the table. 

Snubbing his cigarette on a nearby ashtray, Duncan stepped closer, spreading their meal across the tiny kitchen table. Not a fantastic presentation, but it was good, wholesome food. 

Will reached for the coffee first. He was looking anywhere but Duncan’s eye. 

Part of being a skilled assassin meant knowing how to read the room. Duncan took in Will’s silence as he slowly dropped into the seat across from him. This could be a problem. 

“You haven’t slept with a man before,” he said, halfway between a question and a statement. He reached across the table to add a little cream to his coffee, eye not wavering. 

“Wasn’t that obvious?” Will’s mirthless laughter was met with silence, and after a moment, he sobered again. “Sorry. I didn’t meant to sneer.” 

Duncan arched an eyebrow, setting the creamer down. Awkward morning afters weren’t his forte, considering he rarely slept with someone he intended to see again. He’d have to take care. 

“What’s the problem? I was under the impression that we both enjoyed ourselves.” Granted, they were both pretty drunk, but Will hadn’t shied away from his touch. 

Will’s tone was resolute.

“There’s no problem.” 

They finished breakfast in silence. 

Will left well before noon, muttering some unnecessary excuse about dogs and possible damage from last night’s storm. That was the last Duncan saw of him for the fortnight to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with this chapter, ya'll! Any time delays are on me, since I'm the final round of polishing - the whole story's finished on the back end, though, so no worries about unfinished works!
> 
> Either way, thanks a bundle, and we hope you enjoy! ~Dia


	3. Will III

Instead of half-forgetting things done while drunk like a normal person would, Will was supplied with  _ everything  _ that had transpired that night: beads of sweat, rippling muscles, the dark look in a half-lidded eye, lips rough on his neck, cum trickling down his thighs, being filled and held like he was something to be cherished. Instead of nightmares,  _ that  _ haunted his dreams now. 

He was rather convinced it was a one night stand. He had never liked men (except for this one classmate in college, a freshman two years his junior, but they’d never spoke of it and eventually he graduated and they never saw each other again). And Hannibal… Hannibal was an intellectual fascination, intrusive thoughts of intimacy aside, and -- That wasn’t the point. Will had dated women. He’d made love to them. He’d liked them. So why did he wake up hard and whining Duncan’s name the next day, and the next, and then another time two days later? 

So he stopped seeing Duncan. 

Duncan never sought him out. 

That settled it. It really was a one night stand. 

And if it had put an end to their friendship somehow, then Duncan wasn’t enthusiastic enough to salvage it. Will? He wasn’t brave enough. 

And that was fine. 

* * *

It was a little over two weeks before somebody came knocking at his door. Will opened it to find a young woman, bundled up in winter clothes that seemed a size too large for her. She was slight, birdlike, a shy face framed by dark hair. 

“Hi.” She sounded hesitant, avoiding his eyes (and Will felt like that alone should warrant them getting along). “I’m Camille.” 

They shook hands. “You’re Duncan’s… Friend,” Will said, for lack of a better word. Duncan had spoken of her like one would of a daughter, or a niece. Camille didn’t correct him, only shrugged. 

“Mr. Graham--” 

“Will, please.” The formality itched. “Come on in.” 

Camille followed him inside. Her eyes brightened at once when his pack came out to greet her. Beaming, she knelt and let them sniff her hands, then her face, letting out a quiet giggle when Max licked her nose. Will started his ancient coffeemaker and stood at the doorway to the kitchen. “They shed,” he warned, not without a smile. 

Camille was scratching Buster under the chin. “It’s alright,” she said, not even looking up. A second passed, and she came back to her timid self, rising to her feet and tugging a little at the hem of her jacket. “Sorry to intrude. I just wanted to… To say hello.” 

“Don’t worry, Camille. Take a seat. I’ll get you coffee.” 

Camille didn’t pipe up until Will returned with the mugs. She held it between her hands, watching the steam curl up and up. “Duncan,” she said, loud enough to catch his attention, before her voice fell quiet again. “Duncan… Talks about you.” 

Will’s expression remained remarkably smooth as he sat down. “Does he?” 

“Yes.” She fidgeted. “He really appreciates you bringing him to fish. And hike. All of the things you do together. It makes him happy.” 

Will didn’t know what to say to that.  _ It made me happy, too. _ Camille’s eyes flicked up to him, expectant, then fell again when he stayed silent. She carried on, bravely. “I’ve never seen him this lively. We talk over video calls, so I… Can see the difference, you know? He’s become a lot happier ever since he met you; he, he’s not alone anymore. And then when you stopped talking--” 

“I’m not his babysitter, alright?” Will said, abruptly. Camille looked at him with wide eyes. He hadn’t raised his voice, he was sure, but it was so silent that his words echoed back, and it made him clammy. He sighed. “...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” 

“Will.” Camille’s voice didn’t waver when she said, “Duncan likes you.” 

* * *

Camille said she was going to leave that afternoon. That night, Will walked to Duncan’s house. Nothing had changed save for the new quilt blanket draped over the back of the couch, a tag still dangling from the corner. Awkward small talk as Duncan led him inside and they settled beside the coffee table. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Duncan stated calmly, as usual. Not a hint of being upset, just a flat statement of fact. Will gave the slightest of nods. He’d expected Duncan to ask why, or wonder if it had been because of their night together. But Duncan simply said, “I’m glad to see you here.” 

That was it. A simple sentiment, both relieving and damning in equal measures. Will could’ve left it at that. He didn’t, because his mind raced too quickly for his own goddamn good. 

“What did it mean to you?” he blurted. 

Duncan's expression shifted, the slightest furrow appearing in his brow. “What do you mean?” 

“The…” Will struggled. “We slept together. I thought about it. I keep thinking about it. It was an impulsive thing, wasn’t it? But it was too… Good to be just once, and I don’t want to make--” 

“I had hoped it wasn’t a one-night stand,” Duncan cut in. Will stared at him, brows furrowed. 

“Then why didn’t you…”

“I didn’t want to impose.” 

They fell silent. It was the sort of silence that got Will tied up in knots all over again. Different knots, this time, mostly wondering how he could be so damn blind to what Duncan had probably made obvious. He nearly opened his mouth to apologize again when Duncan spoke. 

“We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, if you’d like more experience with men.” 

Laughter bubbled up in Will’s chest despite himself, relief and amusement mingled. There was some nervousness around the thought, but damn it. “Just make sure we don’t drink so much next time,” he said, and Duncan smiled. 

* * *

It hadn’t snowed in a week. The sky was still pallid and lightless, but the winds were down and that counted as warm. It was good to spend the afternoon outside, listen to the dogs chase each other through the snow and bark up at the crows in the trees. Ellie curled up around Duncan’s feet, nosing against his ankle now and again.

Will gazed at the skeletal trees through puffs of his own breath. From his porch he could watch the flocks congregate on the barren branches, the caws of crows filling the silence. Not that it was necessary; Will had quickly learned that silence didn’t need to be filled, between them. States didn’t need to be explained. Sometimes he’d just catch Duncan looking at him, and if he looked back it’d end in a staring match, an eventual smile… Or their mouths on each other, and maybe more. 

Right now it was his turn to stare. Duncan was working on something, forming a shape from the rough bit of wood. Had he always been this way, word-efficient and soft-voiced? Will found it hard to imagine him young. “Duncan,” he started, turning his eyes back to the crows. “How long had you worked for?” 

The sudden question didn’t change Duncan’s demeanor. “How long had I worked for Damocles, or how long had I worked in the business?” 

"So there was something before Damocles," Will inferred. He hadn't brought up the subject again after the first time they met. There was just never the occasion for it. "What was that... When was that?"

“A long time ago.” Duncan’s eye remained on his work. “I was fresh from the army. Special forces, in Russia. Got a private offer to take someone out for money, and I went for it. Damocles contacted me after my third successful hit.”

_ How did it feel, first time taking a life? _ , asked a voice in his head. It sounded too similar to someone else’s for him to vocalize it. "Did you grow up there - Russia?"

”My younger years were spent in Budapest. My father died when I was young, so my mother and I returned to her family in Russia.” Duncan turned the figure in his hands, squinting through his glasses to get a better look at it. “I ended up forging my papers so I could get into the army earlier.”

"...Have you seen your family again?"

“No.” That said it all. Duncan set his knife down, calloused thumb rasping over the surface. “What about you?”

“I grew up in a handful of port cities,” Will answered, eyes on Duncan’s hands (if he were a poetic man, he would’ve drawn a comparison between the lives those hands had taken and the pleasure they could bring, a perfect dichotomy in one man. He didn’t mention it.) “My dad only settled when he died. I didn’t think much when I went to Washington to study. Somehow I ended up in forensics.” 

Duncan leaned over to hand him his project, just about finished. His fingertips brushed Will’s palm. He’d been working on a bear, apparently, the little creature standing on its hind legs, snout angled down to look at something a little under its eyeline. “Because you want to help,” he said. “You’re a helper. How do you think you kept getting strung along?” 

Will laughed at this. Duncan didn’t. 

“Do you regret lending a hand?” 

It’d been a long time since someone had spelled out Will Graham’s state of mind to him. The feeling hadn't become any more comfortable. “I don’t, funnily enough. No use regretting. And I didn’t just want to help. Sometimes, the chase, it’s… A thrill.” He sighed. He wanted to lean toward Duncan, but didn’t. “How did it feel when you got things done?” 

It was almost a relief when Duncan turned his eye away, his foot bumping lightly against Will’s. “It depends,” he said, slowly. “I found it exhilarating when I first started. Adrenaline inducing. The older I got, the more it became just another job.” 

Will would know that kind of body at a glance, killed like a rat and untouched otherwise. No emotional motives, no connection, just an efficient strike. 

Duncan continued. “Still. Trying to find hobbies that match that feeling has been difficult. You help with that.”

“Hard to imagine how fishing can be adrenaline inducing. You’re just getting old.” 

“Maybe,” Duncan conceded to his teasing with a smile. They both knew full well what he was talking about.

Max and Winston barked from afar; the other three stopped atop a pile of snow; crows took flight; even Ellie perked up an ear. A bit strange, but then Ellie was asleep again and Will shrugged. Maybe one of them had caught a bird. Duncan glanced off to the dogs and rose to his feet. “I’m going to make lunch. Want coffee with it?”

“Sure,” Will said, standing up and pocketing the wooden figure. “I’ll go get the dogs.”

Ellie followed Duncan inside. Will stepped down from the porch and followed the way to the lake. Their own footsteps had made a path in the snow, a battered trail that led from Duncan’s place to his and back. He smiled as his boot crunched in one larger outline, before his dogs came rushing back to him. No birds caught, apparently, but there was... Will squinted. Another track. Footsteps, a few sizes smaller than his. He glanced around. They didn’t have new neighbors, did they? The footsteps threaded through trees towards the main and only road to town. 

There wasn’t anything out of place around except for those tracks. No burnt firewood on makeshift hearths, so that wasn’t a camper. The strides were far too small for someone hiking; almost absurdly small, like the person had been taking careful steps. Like they were concealing themselves. Will looked around, absently wrapping his fingers around the bear in his pocket. If there were danger he probably wouldn't still be standing here, he thought, and turned. “Come on, time to go home.”

On his way back, Will saw a dark car speeding down the road, away from them, towards town. “That’s our hiker,” he said under his breath, ushered the dogs in, and closed the door. That wasn’t a hiker.

By the time Will came back in, Duncan had finished with their lunches, grilled cheese sandwiches with a side of last night’s tomato soup. The dogs wagged their tails as they herded close around them, Duncan patting heads here or there as he carried the plates to the table. Their eyes met once and Duncan caught onto it immediately. “Something wrong?”

“Somebody’s been out there. Fresh footsteps.” Will shrugged off his jacket. The kitchen smelled divine. He set the wooden bear on a shelf and went to the cupboard to fetch cups and spoons.

Duncan’s eye was sharp when he glanced Will’s way. Not anger or fear. Territorial. “And what did they want?”

From the spot where that person - it was one person - lingered behind the trees, he recalled, he was able to see the lake and the snow and the horizon and his house, postcard perfect. “A view,” Will said, musing almost.

“A view of you,” Duncan finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do either of us know Duncan's canon backstory? No. Did either of us buy that one comic to find out? Also no. Happy Valentine's Day! -Dia

**Author's Note:**

> 2-Ethyl-3,5-dimethylpyrazine, aka 3,5-cocoa pyrazine: an aroma compound found in roasted coffee, among others.


End file.
